


Sweet and Down Low

by justanotherStonyfan



Series: Honey Honey [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Kink Negotiation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 07:18:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14806838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherStonyfan/pseuds/justanotherStonyfan
Summary: “I know that you'd usually be up in a couple hours, and that you've probably done this a million times.”Steve turns to look at him.“But?” he says.“But I watched an entire concrete superstructure come down on you in another continent yesterday, and I'd like to go back to bed for a couple hours and just enjoy the fact that I can still, y'know. That you still...”Steve visibly thinks about this for a moment.“Yeah, okay,” he rasps.





	Sweet and Down Low

James wakes in the middle of the night to find that Steve isn't in bed. Given how much concrete dust he inhaled, he'd set three four pillows under his head instead of two and his body will force the concrete dust out, because that's what it does, but James thought it best to give him the room to move and cough if he has to. So he didn't get to snuggle up tonight. So it will have been easy for Steve to leave.

James doesn't know what woke him, but Steve isn't here and the mattress is cool, too, so he hasn't been here for a while. James has work in the morning, but they slept until midday today and then didn't do much at all, except that James learned Steve might have had a concussion. From Tony Stark flying him directly through a concrete wall.

“Are you kidding?” James had said. “You let me put you to bed on a possible concussion?”

“Relax, sweetheart,” Steve had answered, pulling him close under the covers to hold him for a little while. “They only keep you awake twelve hours for that these days, and I run four times faster'n everybody else. I was clear by the time we landed.”

“From flying through a wall.”

“Given the choice between _being flown_ through a wall and drowning in an underground tunnel?” he'd said, and James had shuddered, pushed himself closer.

“Fine, I'll make an exception.”

But for Steve to be up and about already is a little weird considering how bad his leg was – James got a proper look earlier. This afternoon, it looked like someone had tried to fillet his leg, which meant that it must have looked a lot worse than it happened. By the time they went to bed again, it didn't look much better, though Steve assured him it would by morning.

And then there was his back. Now it's pretty common knowledge that concrete is unforgiving, even if you're partly shielded by a metal companion, even if your clothing is protective, even if you heal fast. It looked like dirt when he undressed yesterday afternoon, blue and ochre. But by the time they went to bed, the skin was purple and black, like boot polish, stretching out across his shoulders like a pellegrina. There were grazes, too, but they're mostly healed, but another good reason for sleeping propped up was to keep his own weight off his back. 

And it's just bruising – Steve said himself it was nothing he couldn't work though. But it's across his shoulders. So lifting mugs and turning down covers and brushing his teeth and standing and leaning and all that jazz, it's all followed by a bone-deep pain. He mentioned a couple hairline fractures but apparently those should heal fast, so it's just the incredible inconvenience of having his every move hindered by a deep, spreading ache. 

He sits up in bed and looks around. There's no movement as far as he can tell.

“Jarvis,” he says, “where's Steve?” 

_“Captain Rogers is conducting physical therapy_ ,” Jarvis answers.

James pulls back the covers and gets up.

“Where?” he says. “Am I allowed?” 

_“Whitelist access allows for gym use according to the Commander's personal instructions. Please follow the guidance system.”_

And then a white line appears like a dado rail on the wall. James grabs his bathrobe so he's not walking around in boxers, and then follows the line out of the bedroom. It goes down the corridor in the opposite direction to the living room, past the other doors that James hasn't been in, and into the door at the end of the hallway.

“Oh,” James says. “Are you sure I'm allowed?” 

_“Whitelist access allows you to enter and use the gym, the swimming facilities, the atrium, the spa, and the Commander's study and studio. You may, if you wish, use the spare rooms and second or third bathroom. The Commander's office remains off limits according to your current access, as higher security clearance is required.”_

“Holy shit,” James mutters. “Is all that on this floor?” 

_“Indeed, sir,”_ Jarvis answers, _“although largely unused. The Commander prefers the communal rooms to his own.”_

James opens the door and steps through, closing it behind him, and he finds a wide, and very long, corridor with, again, a door at the end. This is longer, though, like a hotel or something. If James is guesstimating about right, each of the rooms behind those doors must be about four times the size of Steve's bedroom, and Steve's bedroom is pretty damn big.

The white line on the wall goes all the way down to the end room. That room must be huge. Or maybe it leads to another corridor, who knows?

Well, actually, James will in a minute, and he walks down to it without really being sure what to expect on the other side. What he finds is a gym. _The_ gym, which is lit by halogen spots from overhead, windows lining one side of the room. There's a bag, a treadmill, rowing machines, a cross trainer – anything James can think of, it's there. And, at the opposite side of the gym from where James stands, there's another wall of windows, through which he can see the shimmering water of a short-course swimming pool, sideways on and, beyond it on all sides except the one on which he stands, the sprawling, twinkling vista of New York at night. He suspects the fact that he can't feel the humidity or smell the chlorine of the pool is to do with the tower's ventilation system.

As he crosses the gym, he can see Steve resting at the side, arms out along the edge of the pool, head back. Steve is still bruised across his neck and shoulders and, although James can't see his back, he knows about how far down his spine it goes. 

James goes in because nobody's stopped him so far, hit by a wall of close, chlorinated heat, and Steve, very slowly, lifts his head to look at him from across the other side of the pool.

“Hi,” he rasps, as though he hasn't spoken for a while, golden stubble on his jaw catching the light. “What're you doing awake?” 

James sheds the bathrobe - he doesn't mind getting his boxers wet – and dives in because he can, nice and shallow and neat, and comes up close enough to Steve that he only has to put his feet down and move a few steps further. The water is about up to Steve's pecs if he stands, which means it's just below James' shoulders, and James sweeps his sodden hair back off his face as he moves in to kiss Steve. 

Steve is not, as it turns out, wearing a stitch of clothing. In fact, the only thing he has on is the ever-present tag chain with the tags resting under the water. He's lit from below by the refraction of the light in the pool water, and it paints him in cool aqua at his throat, under his arms, under his jaw, picks out his features in contrast. 

It makes his mouth look very attractive.

James kisses him, avoids the bruises and anchors himself to Steve because Steve's strong enough for him to do so, and settles himself astride Steve's good leg, Steve's stubble scratching his cheeks.

“Woke up and you weren't there,” he says. “Jarvis said you were doing PT.”

Steve nods while James winds his fingers into Steve's wet hair.

“Yeah,” he says. “It's about time I started it, given how fast I heal. I went for a walk and then I got in the pool to warm down. Plus my...” he winces, “shoulders.”

“You went for a walk?” James asks, mildly concerned, but Steve just nods in the direction of the gym.

“Just on the treadmill,” he says. “You're gonna be exhausted at work tomorrow.”

“It's okay,” James says. “I did extra during the last couple days, I can go in at eleven.”

Steve looks at him.

“Aw, honey,” he says, shit-eating grin on. “Gotta start work when you're usually just getting up?”

James looks at him.

“You're injured,” he says. “So I'm not going to hit you for that one.”

Steve just kisses him again.

“You can go back to bed, sweetheart, don't let me keep you. I'm just...y'know. Resting off the ache, and then I'll get a shower.”

James doesn't really like the sound of that.

“Nah,” he says. “I'm good. Also, where the hell are your trunks, mister?”

He makes his point with one wandering hand and Steve just smiles as he rolls his eyes.

“Sorry about your delicate sensibilities,” he says, pushing off from the wall as James disengages, turning around when he's standing in the middle, “but the windows are mirrored, nobody can see. Didn't you know the rules when you got in?”

They've had a lot of sex. They've done a lot _besides_ having sex. James still blushes anyway.

“Oh, it's one of those pools, is it?” he says, pulling himself up onto the side so he can stand.

Steve ducks down in the water like an alligator, only his nose and eyes above the surface as James eases the wet fabric down. They don't want to slide, mainly because they're skin-tight and wet right now, but he gets them down in a sopping heap at his ankles soon enough, picks them up and chucks them across the width of the pool so he won't have to come all the way back when Steve decides he's had enough. He overcompensates, and the sodden wodge of fabric smacks into the glass of the gym doors before it slops to the ground.

James winces but Steve chuckles.

“Come on,” he says, “get back in, I wanna show you something.”

So James does – he just sits down and then hops in this time, instead of diving. It's just as well, because Steve's coming back towards him. In fact, he must just have moved away to get a good look while James took his shorts off, and so he comes right up to James and wraps his arms around him, kisses him. 

“Is that what you want to show me?” James says, wiggling a little.

“It's a shame about chlorinated water,” Steve says. “It gets all sorts of places it shouldn't if you try for pool sex. Maybe I'll buy some inflatables at some point, we can try it that way. For now, no - look outside.”

James snorts and turns in Steve's arms, lets Steve snuggle up behind him. It's an odd place to cuddle, the edge of a swimming pool, and he's very aware of the different textures of Steve's body – the wide, flat pecs, the ridged abdominals, the press of thick thighs and the weirdly intimate sensation of Steve's uninterested dick against his ass, huge arms around him, huge hands on his stomach, but James looks out at New York, at the reflection of their faces in the glass, and then Steve says,

“Lights, Jarvis,” and the whole room is plunged into darkness.

And then, suddenly, James can see for miles and miles, gridworks of sparkling lights laid out beneath them like a carpet, towering spires of star-light points rising from the city. 

“Wow,” James says.

Steve hums in his ear and presses himself against James.

“Yeah.”

It's like a starfield, right at their feet, beautiful, perfect, almost unreal. 

And James knows being in a pool isn't like zero-g, but at that particular moment, it's close enough.

~

They spend a little longer in the pool, James swimming around Steve, Steve just enjoying not having to put any weight on his leg. James doesn't shower with Steve, because that would be counter productive even though it would probably be very enjoyable. Instead, he sits on the closed lid of the toilet, swathed in a towel, and watches Steve lather himself up. Which is almost as enjoyable.

He knows Steve can take care of himself – Steve has been doing so for years – but James feels better for sitting and watching him, and knowing he can get something in half the time if Steve needs it, thereby saving Steve the journey and saving him the trouble of potentially hopping in and out of the shower. Steve doesn't put on a show for him but James doesn't need him to. There's almost something _more_ intimate about watching him do this without the sexual undertone, about watching him do something so personal and usually private. James is being let in, and he knows how lucky that makes him.

When he's done, Steve rinses off (and if he takes a little longer than usual to let hot water soothe sore muscles, James isn't about to judge him for that), and then he steps carefully out of the shower. His leg, which no longer needs wrapping, looks bad, of course it does, but it looks a lot better than it did when they went to bed. 

“Now for the really sexy part,” Steve says, “hand me a towel so I can dry my balls.”

James laughs and hands him the towel he was wrapped up in, getting in the shower himself. His sodden boxers are in the sink, and he'll deal with them later. For now, his priority is getting the chlorine out of his hair and getting back into bed.

Except...well, he makes an assumption or two and takes a little longer to be thorough. 

When he's done, however, Steve isn't in the bedroom.

James frowns and goes into the living room, wrapped up in his bathrobe, where Steve is standing hitch-hipped against the counter, dressed in his pajamas, fiddling with the coffee pot. His white shirt is thin enough that James can see the bruising through it.

“I know,” James says, actually mildly startling Steve which is...okay, wow, way more of an indicator that he should be in bed, “that you'd usually be up in a couple hours, and that you've probably done this a million times.”

Steve turns to look at him.

“But?” he says.

“But I watched an entire concrete superstructure come down on you in another continent yesterday, and I'd like to go back to bed for a couple hours and just enjoy the fact that I can still, y'know. That you still...”

Steve visibly thinks about this for a moment, and he looks mournfully at the coffee machine too. But then his head moves slightly, and then again, and James realizes he's nodding.

“Yeah, okay,” he rasps, and then he begins to limp towards James, tags clinking together with each uneven step.

It's more of a limp than there was when he got out of the pool, which means he's undoing all the good he did, and James gets an arm around his waist, ducking under Steve's shoulder and being damned careful about where he puts his arm for support.

“Thanks,” Steve mutters, as though it's not a joy for James to be pressing himself against a torso like that, as though it's not a joy to still have him there to do it, and James plants his hand on Steve's stomach (totally not to feel his abs, which Steve totally doesn't chuckle about) and provides help Steve probably doesn't need, in order to get him back to bed.

“You need anything?” James asks, and Steve looks a little different as he pulls himself back into bed, settling against the pillows. 

He's a little pale, the gray at his temples a little less visible against the pallor of his skin, the bruises stark and deep against the pale sheets, but his eyes are open and clear, and his lips are slightly parted. 

“I don't think there's anything I need,” he says, but that's not entirely true, and James can see as much.

“Okay,” James says. “I'll be back in a minute.”

He goes to the kitchen, to Steve's combination refrigerator/freezer, and grabs a bowl full of ice, which he takes back to the bedroom. He grabs another towel from the bathroom too – a clean, dry one, and then he sets the towel on the dresser and the bowl on the towel.

“What are you doing?” Steve asks, and James sticks his hands in the bowl of ice.

“Relax,” he says. “Trust me.”

“I trust you,” Steve says, “but I also don't want you to mess around with ice cubes on me.”

Which...okay, James wasn't going to, but it's something to note.

“I'm not Cosmopolitan,” James says.

“Aw, I wouldn't say that,” Steve answers, “I bet you know about lots of things. You said you were learning Chinese...”

“It's a magazine,” James says, taking his hands out of the bowl and drying them on the edges of the towel. “It's famous for always suggesting ice-cubes...” But Steve is smiling. “You asshole,” James says. “You got me. How do you even know about Cosmopolitan?”

Steve grins, and James rolls his eyes as he walks over to the bed.

“Can you take off your shirt?” James asks, and Steve evidently doesn't find it easy – James almost feels bad for asking – but eventually, with a grunt and a jingle of tags, the white shirt is in his hands not on his body, and he puts it on the bed, next to him, as he relaxes back into the pillows. 

James opens his bathrobe to take it off, naked underneath it, watches Steve take him all in as he sets it aside, and then reaches out with one hand to pull back the covers on the bed, so that Steve isn't lying under them. Steve looks sort of surprised, but not at all displeased and, carefully, James gets on the bed and straddles his hips. 

Steve is virtually sitting up in all his pillows, so it doesn't take much for James to lean down for a kiss, and Steve's hands come up when he does, stroking up James' back and down again, around to his waist. Steve's mouth opens under his, his movements languid, and so, as carefully as he can manage, James eases the cool fingers of one hand beneath the nape of Steve's neck, and the fingers of the other into his hair.

He can feel the full-body shudder Steve gives him, feels the soft moan that rolls up from the back of Steve's throat as James' cool fingers ease some of the ache. It's probably negligible, but Steve seems to be enjoying it, fingers flexing on James' skin, and then Steve moves, pulls James a little closer, lifts his head as he-

“Ow,” Steve pulls away to say, “ow, _ow_ , okay-”

“Sorry!”

“No,” Steve says, “nono, it was...” he sighs. “No, I tensed up, I was gettin' ready to move and I...”

He settles back into the pillows and rubs one palm along James' thigh as he sighs through his nose.

“Can you keep still?” James says, and Steve frowns at him.

“What do you mean?” he asks, and James reaches out and pulls open the bedside drawer.

Steve buys the good stuff, the kind that lasts, and James pulls out the pump bottle of it.

“This is really convenient,” James says. “I mean can you keep still?”

Steve looks at the bottle, then at James. James has already grabbed a condom and he kneels up and shuffles backward.

“Uh,” Steve says. “Wait a second,what are you-”

“I'm gonna put a condom on you,” James says.

Steve's dick is a little hard, he can make it out through the pajama fabric, so he puts the condom down a sec and goes for Steve's waistband. It's not difficult to move, not hard to get it down him. Steve is frowning at him but doesn't seem concerned as James gets his pajama pants down to his knees, and he gets hard in James' hand without James even stroking, shivering again at the cold skin on hot flesh. Simple as that. James just holds Steve's dick in his hand, and it gets hard – that's something that does wonders for his ego.

“We've done some stuff,” James says, rolling the condom down Steve's dick before he shuffles forwards on his knees, “but I didn't get to ride you yet, not right anyhow,” And he pumps a handful of lube, grasps Steve's cock as he reaches back, and then presses the head up against his hole, slicking it up before he holds it steady. “Don't worry, I prepped in the shower.”

And he starts to sink down – Steve doesn't register what he's said for a second, upper body curling forward as his hands come up, the concern on his features replaced a moment later by open-mouthed pleasure as the head of his dick slips inside, head falling back again.

What follows is the most amazing display of yes-please-no-thanks James has ever seen in one body in the space of five seconds, while Steve simultaneously seriously enjoys what James is doing and sincerely regrets trying to move so sharply to stop him.

He settles in the cushions again with a strangled sort of,

_“Ahhough?”_

And James tries not to laugh.

And then Steve's gasping for breath and honestly, this, this is really, really nice, this is exactly what James wants. Steve's a quiet guy but James' favourite thing is to hear him, and Steve slaps at the mattress with one hand, patting blindly for James' thigh with the other until he finds it, and then his fingers dig in.

“Wh-at the hell, kid, you... _oh,_ I thought, that's-” but it's interrupted by another moan – this one deep and throaty, open-mouthed, Steve's chest expanding, and James bites his lip and sinks down and down and watches the way Steve's body freezes up completely while James eases down on him. “Uh, _uhn_ fuckareyou-”

James plants both hands on Steve's gorgeous washboard abs and rocks forward, clenching down just as hard he can, and that's literally all it takes. Steve gives a noise as though he's just given up on carrying something about eight times his own weight and then kind of spasms against the bed, hissing a moment later as his fingers curl in the sheet, on James' thigh. 

“Oh, _oh_ ,” he says, eyes squeezing shut, and “ _James!_ ”

And James watches his stomach clench, watches the heave and shudder of his chest and the fixed claws his hands make. It'll probably hurt, which is not what James wanted from this, but what James can see of Steve's face has that beautiful blindsided expression on, his skin pale but smooth in the soft, gold light of the simulated incandescents he prefers in the bedroom.

James clenches down again, just to watch Steve's whole body respond, and makes sure it goes on for a little longer but Steve slaps the mattress again, and then again,

“Wait,” he says, “can you- get off- me for-,” and James does immediately, lifts himself up and off and opens his mouth to apologize, but Steve's whole body seems to make a wild attempt to collapse in on itself once he has. “Oh, God, wow,” Steve says.

James bites his lip, unsure.

“Are you okay?” he says, and Steve laughs a little unsteadily. 

“God that was even faster'n the first time, sorry,” he says. “Jeez.”

He lies very still and breathes very rapidly, and James kneels up and puts his hands down on the bed so he can kiss Steve again without touching him.

“Mm,” Steve says into his mouth, “mmmh,” and James just keeps the kissing going for a little bit, just opens his mouth and kisses Steve while Steve's cradled in pillows with his pants around his knees. 

There's something James wants to say (one, two, three words), but now isn't the time. Now feels like it would be trite, or too soon, or- James doesn't know how soon is too soon but it can't be too soon if he waits for Steve to say it first, right? So he just has to wait for that.

“I love it,” James says instead, a small compromise. “I don't care if it takes you ten seconds every time, I love watching you come.”

“Oh is that right?” Steve says, but he says it soft and low. “How about that, another thing we got in common.”

James rolls his eyes, it's a line of course - it always is. He's got so many, and they're cheesy and dumb and James melts a little more inside with each one. 

“I love it,” James says again, in lieu of the other thing. “God I love this, can we go again?”

Steve blinks up at him.

“Uh, I mean, I, sure, I can,” he says, “but you wanna take care of you first this time?” 

James shuffles back, strips off Steve's condom and knots it, drops it in the bin by the bed, and grabs another. Steve's got wipes in the bedside table, too, so James uses one on him and throws that away, too. Steve looks surprised but James grabs another condom and opens it, rolls it onto Steve.

He grabs himself another pump of lube 'cause Steve's still hard, Steve isn't flagging in the slightest, and he slicks Steve up.

“No, I'd rather take care of you,” James says.

“I changed my mind, I'm too old for this,” Steve says, but he's smiling, and James leans down for another kiss and sinks down on Steve again while he's kissing him.

Steve does a better job of not tensing this time around, and only a light flinch and the hint of teeth James feels belie the fact that James is doing anything at all.

“Relax,” James says against his mouth, and Steve – to his credit – visibly does his best. 

It's not surprising that it's difficult, though, and James tries to go easy on him – the goal is for Steve to just lie there and let James ride him which, actually, might go a little better if he made sure they were both on the same page. So James sits back in the cradle of Steve's hips and arches his back, puts his body on display and stretches, runs his hands over his skin and watches Steve's eyes as he follows the movement.

“Try this,” he says, shoulders back, head down to look at Steve from under his lashes. “You relax, stay just like you are and don't tense up, and I'm gonna ride you 'til you forget about those bruises. Okay?”

“You,” Steve says, and this is how James knows Steve's better at this than he is, “still got a funny way'a askin' my permission.”

But James can hold his own.

He bites his lip as he leans down, cool hands flat against Steve's stomach, Steve's dick still inside of him, and brings his mouth a hair's breadth from Steve's, moans softly and hears Steve echo it, lifts his head and breathes hot against Steve's ear.

“Please, Steve,” he groans, mouthing at Steve's throat a moment later, “let me ride you 'til you forget about those bruises.”

Steve's eyelids are closed when James looks at him, flutter open a moment later to show that his eyes are dark, glittering in the warm light, his lashes long and thick, his skin pale but his lips parted.

“Kiss me,” he says, and James does as he's asked, Steve's hands roaming hot on his back, giving him soft, desperate little sounds that James swallows. 

James starts to move, just a little at first, lifting his hips to slide up a little way on Steve's dick where he's still bent almost double over him, crawling his fingers upward to tease at Steve's nipples. And Steve _likes_ that, sighs sweetly as his nipples harden and arches just a little to push them into James' hands.

James mouths wetly at Steve's chest, anywhere the bruises aren't, gets all the skin he can reach and Steve _lets_ him, holds him lightly and breathes a little heavily, is watching James when James lifts his head, seems a little more melted into the bed every time James looks at him. 

“You just stay right where you are,” James says, his voice soft as he sits upright, the change in position pulling a grunt from Steve. “Let me do the work.”

And the thing about James is that he's only young but he's very good as things like flirting and leaning on bars and looking attractive, at things like presenting a bunch of flowers or holding out an elbow, at things like taking someone's coat for them and pulling out a chair. He's a charmer, a mover, he enjoys being comfortable in his own skin.

So when he runs both hands down his chest and thighs and takes Steve's hands so that he can put them on chest, his waist, move them around to cup his ass, he knows exactly what kind of picture he's making. 

If he didn't, Steve's expression would probably tell him.

James begins to move, then, moves the way he does because he can, and he watches Steve's transfixed expression as he rocks astride him, fucking himself because he's asked Steve to let him.

“God, you're gorgeous,” Steve says, a low murmur James almost mistakes for a groan, and he touches himself the way Steve likes to do it, runs his palms over his body and plays with his nipples and strokes his dick once or twice, cups his hand under his balls and lifts so Steve can see where James is riding him.

Steve looks halfway baffled, thrown completely by the fact that they weren't doing this ten minutes ago and are doing it now, and James works himself up and down because he can, changes his angle to get it right,

“ _Oh,_ yeah,” he says, and Steve draws a sharp breath in, flexes strong fingers on James' skin and lies still in the nest of bedclothes and pillows and just watches him. 

His mouth is open, his brow is furrowed, and he looks at James as though James is too bright to look at.

“Okay?” James asks, and Steve wets his lips.

“Don't stop,” he says, “ _ohn_ , don't stop...”

James doesn't – has no intention – and he's careful because the body does funny things when it's chasing pleasure. Pain becomes less, strain pales in comparison, and exhaustion is nothing in the face of impending climax. Steve's no fool and no stranger to injury, but James would rather provide an orgasm than make him work for one.

“Relax,” James tells him, “try not to work for it, I want it to last for hours.”

Steve chuckles breathlessly.

“I'm sorry in advance,” he says, but James just gives him a look. 

“I mean it,” he says. “I want to do all the work, and I want you to just lie still and take it. Okay?” 

Steve wets his lips, settles his hands on James' thighs and nods.

“Okay,” he says. 

James grins. And then he _moves_ , and Steve's eyes roll back in his head as his mouth falls open, and he very clearly doesn't think about much for a very long while.

~

When they're done, James fishes out the wet wipes and cleans Steve up, cleans himself up too and then asks Jarvis to turn the temperature up a little given that Steve's unwell and James has divested him of his clothes.

Then, he crosses back to the bowl of ice – which has since become a bowl of water – and the towel on which he set it. The towel is now cool to the touch, and he crosses back to the bed and motions for Steve to sit up.

Steve is...sleepy would be the best term for it, although James feels a little weird about describing a forty-one-year-old superhero as 'sleepy,' and Steve mumbles through an abridged explanation of how 'serum does better with sleep,' until he lies back down on the cool towel James has spread out over the pillow, and then he sort of just melts into it. It isn't long before he just sort of grinds to a halt where he's lying. 

“That feels so good,” he mumbles. “Thanks.”

James takes a minute to appreciate the way Steve's whole glorious body turns golden in the sim-candescents, taking in the gorgeous form of Commander Steven G. Rogers mostly asleep with his pants around his knees. James eases them down over Steve's calves and feet once he's about ready to get back into bed, Steve just about managing to lift his knees and feet to assist, and then James pulls up the sheets. When he gets in next to Steve, Steve lifts an arm and James snuggles in carefully against him and the mound of pillows. 

“Sorry,” Steve says, already slurring. “Shouldn't leave you to...take care of...”

“Oh fuck off,” James mutters, sweeping open-mouthed kisses over the bruises on Steve's pec, over his nipple, his shoulder, moving the tags to get at a little ochre one the size of a thumbprint. “Big deal, I had to...mhh, wipe your stomach and...give you a, mmh, towel and take off your pants. Go to sleep.”

Steve's fingers thread clumsily through James' hair, and then he presses his mouth to the top of James' skull and goes very still. James manages to settle down without disturbing him as the sky outside considers getting lighter. Turns out he doesn't even need to ask Jarvis about the lights.

***

James gets up at the usual time. Despite not needing to be in work until eleven, (thank you, Memorial day,) being up early will enable him not only to provide breakfast for Steve, but also to go in early. That'll get him another couple of hours out of the way so he can come back upstairs early today, _and_ it'll mean he can take a full half day when he next wants one.

He extracts himself from Steve's embrace – which wakes Steve, of course it does – but he tells Steve to go back to sleep.

“Mmmh,” Steve says, squinting at the daylight. “What time is it?”

James just rolls his eyes. 

“Like eight, go back to sleep.”

Steve levers himself up onto his elbows. The blacks and blues have faded to a latticework of magenta interspersed with speckles of gold and green, so that it looks like he's been painted by pink lace. He winces, but not nearly as much as he did the night before.

“I'm not tired,” he says instead, and he pulls the sheet back to look at his leg. "You're working today?"

"Mmh, double pay, so _yeah_. Plus, so are you."

It's true. If Steve hadn't been roped into the China debacle, he'd be doing an interview or two, standing on parade in the afternoon. Not on that leg, though.

The line of the gash is pinkish, now, shiny but closed, except where there's pale, sunken scab in one or two little places. The deeper parts. 

“Oooh, let me see,” James says, and he goes over and looks.

Steve looks mildly amused by his enthusiasm, but shows him the mark. Big and long and shiny pink, but no stitch-dots - those have healed already. They learned a long time ago not to put soluble stitches in Steve – he heals too fast and then the stitches itch under the skin for days – so the stitches have been falling out since they were put in. James found a couple in bed yesterday. 

He follows the line with gentle fingertips, looks up at Steve's head and shoulders from the vantage point of his shin, and quirks a brow at Steve's naked everything, but his dick first and foremost. 

“Looks pretty good,” he says, and then he leans down and swipes his tongue over the new skin of the fading scar.

Steve flinches a little, in surprise rather than discomfort, and James grins.

“Come here,” Steve says, flopping back into the pillows.

James goes over, but Steve moves as he does, twisting his upper body sideways on the bed to snag James' waistband and drag him close with it. James nearly stumbles, unaccustomed to walking anywhere basically dick-first, but then Steve's twisting his upper body some more until he can hang his head upside-down off the edge of the bed, and James only just manages to brace his knees against the edge of the mattress either side of Steve's head when upside-down-Steve swallows his dick, instead of kneeing him directly in the face.

“Wha- _ah, ah-!_ ” For a second, he flails, off-balance, not knowing where to put his hands, until eventually he just puts them down wherever. Steve's pecs, yeah, that's a pretty fuckin' good plan, that'll do. “ _Oh_ fuck- ff- _uck_ -”

Steve hums a languid chuckle around his throatful without even gagging, and James lets his eyes roll back in his head.

~

After his impromptu blowjob ( _from Steve Rogers! An impromptu Steve Rogers B.J he's so fucking lucky!!_ ) James wobbles off on unsteady legs to make breakfast, while Steve settles back into the mattress and pillows, arms folded behind his head, grin not-quite smug. He fuckin' licks his lips, too. 

James doesn't look back at him because it would be way too easy to do so and then breakfast wouldn't get made, and instead he puts together toast and coffee and- hey yogurt in the fridge, okay – into which he pours cereal because he's not a chef and the longer he takes means the more likely Steve is to come looking for him. 

He thinks about how easy it seems for Steve to hang out naked. Is that something they can both do? He wonders about it for a bit. Steve's got no shame (not true but true enough when they're together) and seems up for being adventurous at some point in the future (which, okay, that is _awesome_ because James wants to have so many things done to him but also wants to _do so many things_ to Steve) and he's so at ease with himself. He's so happy to lie on a mattress in nothing but his dogtags, like, James can see his dick! James can see his _everything_. James doesn't have that kind of confidence, yet, but he wants to. He wants to be able to be lying on the bed naked and waiting for Steve, and he wants to be able to come in from work and hear Steve in the shower and go in and join him, and he wants to eat breakfast with Steve and wrap his arms around Steve from behind while Steve's cooking and curl up with Steve on the couch and watch a movie.

James knows he's in love with Steve. It's not a sudden realization, and he doesn't think 'oh shit, I'm screwed' because who _wouldn't_ , in his position, be in love with Steve?

“I love you,” he tells the cafetière, because there's a swelling in his chest that eases when he says it.

He learned that, scientifically, you hurt when things upset you because your body can be so sad that it thinks it's injured. That's why it's hard to breathe when somebody's died, that's why your chest hurts so bad when someone rejects you. Your body thinks _well this sucks so bad I must be physically injured, so I'll just physically hurt in response._ He wonders if your body can be so happy that it thinks it's bigger, that your heart can be so full that it feels too big but not big enough at the same time. Can you be so happy your body can't contain you? 

“I love you,” he tells the cafetière, because his heart is so full.

~

Steve flips the sheet back over his lap when James comes in with the tray, because drips of scalding coffee and butter-greasy crumbs are no fun to have on naked skin. James turns him down when he says he can share the coffee.

“I made it for you,” James tells him, _everything that went into it is for you_ he does not.

~

James makes his own lunch once he'd showered and dressed, and makes sandwiches because that's what's available to him. When he goes back into the bedroom, Steve is just covering his bare ass with boxer shorts, tugging them up with his back to James.

“Awh,” James says, sad. “Works of art are meant to be displayed-”

“I could say the same to you,” Steve says without hesitation. “Covering up all that skin when you don't have to leave for an hour.”

“I want to blow you,” James says, “but we can call it my reward for going to work if you don't want to get undressed again, obviously.”

“I can't,” Steve says, looking genuinely rueful about it. “I've got to teleconference with the others. In about ten minutes.”

Bucky pouts on purpose.

“Not even a little one?” he says. 

Steve visibly considers it.

“Listen, kid,” he says, fake-stern, “I thought we had an agreement about you doin' what I told you, no?” 

James will not get a hard-on, he will _not_.

“I could just suck the head,” he says, “just a little bit, like a lollipop. I don't have to suck your whole dick.”

“You're an absolute fuckin' menace,” Steve says, striding across the room, coming straight for him in a manner that might be terrifying if James couldn't see the laughter in his eyes.

James feigns surprise, turning just before Steve reaches him the way he might if Steve were threatening to tickle him, except that Steve's trained in hand-to-hand, and he uses James' dodge to turn him around, to get one arm across James' chest and the other across his waist to hold him fast, flexing his hips against James' ass as he kisses James' throat, wet and open-mouthed, making soft little noises to show how much he likes doing it.

Steve's in boxers, James is in pants and boxers, and his eyes still flutter closed, a moan still falls from his open mouth as Steve's dick grinds against the back seam of the seat of his pants.

“See?” he says, smug, and his voice is rougher than he intended. “Little Cap says Ten Shun.”

Steve goes very, very still, and James bites his lip to keep from giving himself away. 

After a few very long seconds, Steve's forearms peel away from James' chest and stomach, and he turns his palms upward in front of James, in the universal gesture for _what the fuck?_

James just laughs.

***

“I'm not expecting there to be a body,” Steve says, flicking through a couple of the photographs in the file. “I'd be surprised if you found anything at all.”

 _“Nobody this end seems to concerned about finding remains, man,_ ” Sam tells him. _“The footage off your bodycam tells its own story anyway - only questions it raises ain't ours to answer. Nobody needs us for cleanup, either – we thought maybe they'd need help with evacuations if anything was missed, but everyone got out.”_

“Except Tsai Li Ming,” Steve answers – he's going to be sore about it for a while, he suspects, not least because it still feels off. 

_“Yeah but including you and Stark,”_ Sam told him. _“Just heal, and we'll debrief again once we're back.”_

“I'm doing pretty good, actually,” Steve says. “James has been keeping an eye on me, makin' sure I don't go for a run or somethin'. He's got work today but he'll be back this evening. I'm thinkin' of showing him my place in Brooklyn this weekend. Maybe. But yeah, he's been following me around, making sure I don't exert myself.”

 _“Whatever keeps your ass in bed,”_ Sam shrugs. Then, _“No!”_ as he realizes what he's set up for Steve to knock down. _“Jesus. I'll see you tonight.”_

But he's smiling even as he ends the call.

The smile fades soon enough, though. 

It's tough, as one of the team leaders of a strategic response unit, to face the fact that's plagued them since they first formed during the chitauri invasion: They're an American task force. And, while that doesn't mean now what it once did, there are still countries who are reluctant to accept help from the Avengers. Or, reluctant to accept follow-ups even if they'll accept help.

Steve rubs his hand over his eyes as he pulls up his section of the server on the desk interface. They're Avengers. There not DEA or ICE, they're not looking to make an arrest or stage a coup. They're emergency services first and foremost, and nobody's going to be planting a flag and claiming land or whatever, but it's...

There are countries that are glad to see them, countries who only want their help for the duration of an immediate disaster, and countries who don't want anything to do with them regardless of the problem. Steve is endlessly glad that the number of places who yell “NO” outright seem to be falling, but it's still...

Well.

Steve won't be pleased until everyone is savable, of course. But even if he knows it'll probably never happen in his lifetime, it doesn't mean they can't strive for it. He doesn't say it out loud too often – the younger members of the Avengers tend to be very skeptical, and the older ones have started to eyeroll, but it's...

They're there to help. Race, color, creed, etc. 

He's not an engineer, of course. He can look at blueprints and figure out what goes where, can retain the right information if the right information is shown to him, but he looks at the blueprints on his desk, and the information next to the calendar on his desk display, and shakes his head. 

“Jarvis,” he says, “from the blueprints and our systems information, are you able to provide a reasonable 3D reconstruction of the dam, as well as my route inside?”

_“Mister Stark has already asked for a three-dimensional reconstruction of the blueprints available, and I should be able to provide an accurate rendering of your positions within from the information collected from Mister Stark's suit and sensors, as well as your bodycam and trackers.”_

And, suddenly, there's a 3D render of the dam, in so-bright-they're-almost-white turquoise lines. Within are two squiggly lines, one blue and one red, which intersect and then continue side by side in the lower half, and then through the side, of the render. 

“All right,” Steve says. “Can you place a white marker in control room _Yī,_ please, Jarvis?”

Jarvis does. 

“Thank you,” Steve says. “If I ask you to pull the room up to maybe....hm, one third scale, can you draw a new path according to my direction?”

 _“Certainly, Sir,”_ Jarvis answers. _“I can also provide some approximation of the damage according to the suit scans and your bodycam, if that would be helpful.”_

“It would,” Steve says, “especially if you can synch it with the marker movement?” 

Jarvis answers by pulling the room in until Steve can get up to stand in the middle of the reconstruction of control room _Yī,_ and by then providing very small, white letters above the new glowy-white marker, which is now about the size of a tennis ball.

TSAI LI MING.

“Thanks,” Steve says, and uses gestures he learned a long time ago to pull the _Tsai Li Ming_ marker to the first place he saw her. “Begin tracking, please, Jarvis.”

And then he pulls the marker forward, along the front of the room where he saw movement, with his little blue marker following like a shadow, the render of the room breaking and twisting around them. When he pulls the _Tsai Li Ming_ marker onto the walkway, though, his marker is...

“Huh,” he says. “Jarvis, could there be any discrepancy between my placement and the information collected from scan and equipment information?”

_“It would not be unlikely for your actual position to differ from the position of your marker in the rendered simulation, Commander. GPS and bodycam information cannot be one hundred percent accurate due to the failure of the structural integrity of the dam and your location within.”_

“Okay,” he says. “That's fine.”

Because that would explain why he thought he was further onto the walkway when she was where she was.  
“Can you show structural failure of the walkway?” he asks, and Jarvis shows pulsing red light at the relevant places. 

Yeah, it matches up.

“Using available information, can you reconstruct the accident that killed Tsai Li Ming?” he asks. “Or, at least, can you show me how it might have happened?”

 _“There are a number of possibilities,”_ Jarvis answers, _“most of which are speculative as there was no imaging recording at the time of her impalement.”_

“Show me the five most likely,” Steve says. “Please,” he remembers. 

Because there's something he's been wondering about.

So Jarvis plays him five different renditions of the walkway's collapse, along with Tsai Li Ming's death and Iron Man's subsequent arrival. Each is a little different according to Jarvis' reconstructions but Steve sees what he's looking for in the fourth rendition and realizes halfway through the fifth.

“Wait, sorry, can you show me that last one again?” 

Jarvis does, runs through the Steve token chasing the Li Ming token and couples it with the collapse of the walkway. 

In the third rendition, she paused by the section which impaled her. In this one, the token veers sideways as the walkway detaches from the wall. Steve narrows his eyes.

“Jarvis, she was already impaled when I got there,” he says. “Can you alter the timelines?”

 _“Of course, Sir,”_ Jarvis answers. _“Is my approximation of Tsai Li Ming's position correct?”_

“Yeah,” Steve says, “I think so.”

 _“Thank you, Sir,”_ Jarvis answers. 

He plays it through again and, this time, structural damage pushes the token into the twisted metal of the walkway. 

“Sorry, do you have any idea what damaged the walkway railing she was impaled on?” he asks because, currently, the damage to the rail is the only damage until the whole walkway shears.

_“Unfortunately, Sir, this section of the simulation is fabricated, as no information was available at the time.”_

“Guessing there was no video surveillance?” he hedges.

_“Cameras in this section were no longer operational at the time of the accident.”_

Steve clenches his jaw. 

So she just staggered sideways into a bent railing and died? Steve doesn't like it. He's also got no more information to clear it up. Still, the whole dam was shaking at the time, the floors and walls were moving – he scrubs a hand over his face – it's not unlikely that she either tripped or was knocked hard enough to do that kind of damage. He just likes to know for sure.

“All right,” he says. “From what you've got, can you show me where all this,” he waves a finger, “structural damage originated?”

There is a pause. And then Jarvis pulls the structure out again and shows Steve a blinking red ball, where all the damage that's localized to control room _Yī_ converges. 

“This is not structural failure,” Steve says, not as surprised as he'd like to be.

 _“It would appear that a charge was set, Sir,”_ Jarvis answers. 

Steve sets his jaw and draws a deep breath.

“How long has Tony know about this?” he asks. 

There is another pause.

 _”Approximately three hours,”_ he answers, in a tone that is much more subdued.

“Ah-huh,” Steve says, even less surprised. “Put me through.”

~

Tony sees the call come through and ignores it because no, thank you, he's not dealing with that right now.

Which doesn't deter Steve at all, of course it doesn't. 

“Jay, take a message,” he says.

_“Commander Rogers is being quite insistent, Sir – he has deduced for himself the involvement of charges during the destruction of the dam and has been running simulations pertaining to the failed retrieval of Engineer Tsai Li Ming.”_

Tony sighs. 

“He's going over and over it even though he tells us not to do that, yeah, great, Jay, that's- great, yeah, put him through. Steve!”

 _“Tony,”_ Steve's voice is measured, carefully.

He's on voice, not video, and Tony wonders if it's because he doesn't want Tony to read his expressions but it doesn't matter because Tony doesn't want Steve to read his expressions either.

“Jarvis tells me you've been busy this morning.”

_“Listen, I know you didn't tell me because I'm in recovery and you're in charge at the moment, but I want you to tell me everything you know now.”_

Tony chews his lower lip.

“Shaped charge _is_ everything,” Tony answers. “Deliberate. Effective. Motive's comin' up blank.”

_“Fury's excuse is corporate espionage.”_

“Hold on, I gotta drop altitude, a pig just passed me-”

 _“You and me both,”_ Steve says. _“I don't like it, and maybe I'm just wrong. Maybe she sabotaged the dam for exactly the reasons Fury gave and maybe I got turned around and I wasn't sure where I was, but-”_

“No, I hear you,” Tony tells him, because it's important that Steve knows he does. “I just don't see us getting anywhere fast with this. I can look at the Chinese authorities' side of this, maybe see if their CCTV-”

 _“As much as I want to know what's going on, Tony, do_ not _hack into the Chinese government's records, or anything else they're currently withholding, and that's an order.”_

“Steven, darling, you're breaking my heart. I'll live, but I want you to know I'm wounded. I'm trying to run a detailed scan of the wreckage while we assist on the cleanup, see if Jarvis and I can put the jigsaw together a little better with more information but it's not easy considering the wreckage keeps getting shipped out of the way. It's almost as though they're hiding something, huh, how about that?”

Tony can practically see Steve pinching the bridge of his nose.

_“Well keep me updated. I'll be back out day after tomorrow if you need me, don't start an international incident.”_

“I make no promises usually, but I'll make an exception for you.”

_“Well on behalf of the United States Government and the power vested in blah blah great, whatever, sure, lemme know.”_

“How's that intern of yours”

_“Goodbye, Tony.”_

Tony goes back to the job at hand, and the secondary (to the cleanup op, primary to their own) job of scanning the wreckage. 

The problem is that people keep moving the bits and pieces – not that it's a huge problem. Jarvis is logging everything, will have everything logged, will be able to make heads and tails of it and then put everything together in a giant jigsaw puzzle but the authorities – the Dam's, not China's, which is an important distinction to make – keep moving what they have to work with, plus there's all the detritus that was washed downstream. 

If they ever get to scan it all, Tony will be hugely surprised. He doesn't hold out much hope of finding something useable, either. 

~

Steve pulls up a folder on the server labelled “DL” that requires his password, a biometrics scan, and a sweep of the surrounding environment. 

Inside is is every single mission they've been on that hasn't felt right, and he's not talking about how much it sucks to be called out to something just as it's resolved, or how terrible it is when a natural disaster takes a sleeping village or a busy school. 

Those things are terrible. They are also explainable. 

There have been seven files since the battle of New York. This will be the eighth, and Steve knows them by heart because he used to spend a great deal of time thinking about them. The only reason the Down Low server exists is that, years and years ago, Steve needed peace of mind, and his hypervigilance wouldn't allow it until someone addressed it. It is one of many, many things that Tony's done for him.

The Down Low files are a collection of those things that just didn't add up. Whenever someone's only managed half a report due to unconsciousness, when surveillance has been negated in a powercut, when someone's given an answer during interrogation that doesn't make sense…

Most have been resolved. Most of the time, someone else can finish the report, someone else is taking video, the answer leads to something else. Steve doesn't doubt that, eventually, Tony's scans will be complete, Jarvis' analyses will find information, and they'll be able to piece together who rigged the bomb. He has his own ideas about it, but he doesn't doubt they'll know for sure fairly soon.

Until then, it'll live in the DL part of the server, with restricted access, and Steve will do his best not to think about it, as difficult as it seems that will prove.

Something's up, and he hates not knowing what. Still, for the time being at least, he'll have to accept he's not going to find out any time soon.

***

_…at which point,_ he types, _evasion was made easier by the extent of the structural damage. Although I made further attempts to pursue Miss Tsai, I lost sight of her during further tremors and she was again able to evade me. I am adamant that her continuing movement was a calculated action, as I had repeated my instruction in both English and Mandarin, and was assured that she understood both. She ran from me__

No.

_She did this on purpose__

No. _Christ,_ he sounds like a petulant schoolkid. _Get it together, Rogers._

_"Sir, "_ Jarvis informs him, and Steve looks up, a habit he's still never managed to break, _"Mr Barnes has finished work for today and is currently ascending aboard the residential elevator."_

Steve sighs and rubs his hand over his face, staring long and hard at the screen on which he's writing, and then at the flashing caret still waiting at the end of his sentence.

He types, _She evaded me deliberately, and I am unable to provide an account of the few seconds for which she was out of my line of sight. When I next caught up to her, she was impaled on a railing. While this may have been an accident, I was not present and am therefore unable to confirm._

It'll just have to be good enough. They can have the rest from his bodycam, he isn't thinking about it now. 

She'd told him to suffer, for God's sake, he doesn't want to think about it _at all._

"Let him in, Jarvis," Steve says, "and if you can get coffee started, that'd be great."

 _"Of course, Sir,_ Jarvis answers. _"Am I to surmise that you will be finishing work for today?_ "

Steve pushes back from his desk and stands up, raising his arms over his head and stretching until his spine pops.

"Uuughh, wow, ouch," he says. "I gotta move around more. Yeah, I'm takin' a break at the very least," he answers. "I might come back to it later but there's not much to do that hasn't already been done. Hard to write a report when there's nothing to write a report on. How's everybody doing over there?"

 _"The Dam authorities are beginning to turn down offers of assistance and casualties have now been hospitalized._ "

"Sorry, casualties?" Steve asks. "I thought there weren't any casualties?" _Aside from-_

 _"At the time of the dam's collapse, remaining personnel were clear. A small group of workers were injured, however, when the overflow of water cause a small mudslide at approximately two o'clock in the afternoon yesterday, New York time. There have been no deaths reported, and all injuries are minor._ "

Steve blinks, trying to make his eyes feel less gritty.

"Right," he croaks, and boy does he ned coffee. "You know what, Jarvis? Save it to the mission folder now, I think I'm as done as I'm going to be."

 _"Of course, Sir,_ " Jarvis answers. _"Mr Barnes is inquiring after you, Sir._ "

"Yeah, okay, tell him I'll be there in a second. Lock the room behind me, please, Jarvis. And hey, what time is it?"

~

James is already drinking a cup of coffee by the time Steve hobbles in, uneven steps and clinking tags, fresh from his part-day at the office. He's dressed in semi-formal clothes with a few soft-looking strands of hair loose from the short ponytail he's pulled it into, and Steve smiles immediately, without even thinking about it.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" Steve says, and James turns to look at him, eyebrows raised.

"Am I?" he says, an amused smile playing about his lips.

Steve doesn't do so well by himself - never has really, even though people might argue otherwise - and he's missed finishing work of an evening and leaving his office to come and talk to someone or share a coffee with someone or sit on the couch and cuddle with someone.

"You are," Steve nods, holding out a hand to him as he walks closer.

James looks a little bemused, but moves to meet him, doesn't protest when Steve plucks the mug from his other hand and sets it down on the table before taking James' hands in his own, and then reeling him in for a hug.

A proper hug, too - not one of those disappointing barely-touching things, where both people sort of lean towards each other, bump up against each other, and then move apart. No, Steve wants everything out of this that he can get, so he gets both arms around James' torso and takes the majority of his weight, burying his head in the crook of James' neck as he a draws a deep breath.

"Mmmh," he says. "You are."

One of James' hands comes up to the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair, the other arm slung over Steve's shoulder.

"Are you all right?" James asks, and Steve nods.

"Oh, yeah," he says, and then he pulls back to kiss James hello. "It's just nice to see you."

He kisses James hello again because, why shouldn't he? And then he pulls away just enough to look at James, looking him over to take him in. Slightly mussed-up hair, 

"Careful, I'll get a big head," James tells him, and Steve laughs and lets go, reaching out for the mug to give James his coffee back.

"Listen," Steve says, rubbing James' upper arms with his palms, "I'm not on duty until Wednesday lunch time, doctor's orders, and then I'm only on duty until Friday. I was wondering if you'd want to come home with me this weekend. To Brooklyn."

James' eyebrows look like they're attempting to climb into his hair.

"Uh," he says, and Steve takes his hand off James' shoulder to tuck a stray strand of hair behind James' ear.

"You can say no, I won't be offended. I just wondered if-"

"I would love to?" he says. "Wow way to make that sound like I'm sure - I would _love_ to. Like see where you really live? Like where all your actual stuff is? Yeah, count me in. what do you want me to do, wait for you here on Friday?"

Steve nods.

"Yeah, just come up as usual and we'll head downstairs. You okay riding behind me on a motorcycle?"

James' mouth drops open.

"God that's so hot," he says. "Also, in case you haven't noticed, i like having something huge and throbbing between my le-"

"Stop," Steve says, wincing even as he laughs. "Please stop."

"All that manly growling engine, those sexy leathers you wear?" James answers.

"They're only sexy until I try and take them off," Steve says, following it up by miming the extrication process, making all the convincing squeaking-leather noises he can. 

James cracks up, but he sobers soon enough.

"I'd love to come to your place," James says. "I'd _love_ to."

"Good," Steve says, cupping James' face in his palm, stroking his thumb over James' cheekbone. "It'll be nice to take you home."

James nods.

"Is it soundproofed?"

Steve snorts.

"Finish your coffee and tell me what you want for dinner," he says.

“Mmm,” James answers. “I'm gonna finish my coffee but I believe I left this morning with the promise of a reward when I got back.”

Steve runs his tongue over his teeth and tries to ignore the way all the blood in his body rushes towards his cock at that precise moment.

“So you did,” he says, because if he can't hide his hard-on he can at least pretend he's in charge of it.

~

It being late afternoon, they have stir fry, because Steve's got the stuff in and neither of them feel like anything heavy. They can eat later if they get hungry and, afterwards, Steve goes to sit on the couch because he's feeling that way out.

James will go sit with him in a minute but he starts on coffee for the two of them, and thinks about how nice it will be to sit on the couch and cuddle. He wonders if Steve would rub his shoulders for him if he asked nicely one day. He bets Steve probably would, but he'll save that one for later – he doesn't need it now. Actually, that's a point.

“You want me to rub your shoulders?” James asks, and Steve shakes his head as he moves to sit down.

“Naw,” he says. “I'm good for now, worry about it later. How about you come over here and sit with me though, huh?” He pats the couch. “Come keep me warm.”

“You're cold?” James asks, frowning as he abandons the coffee maker and crosses the living room.

“It's a figure of speech,” Steve answers, holding a hand out for him.

James comes to sit next to him because, as tempting as it would be to sit in his lap, there's a reason Steve isn't in China right now – James doesn't want to exacerbate anything by putting too much weight on Steve. And Steve will probably be fully healed by morning, too, which means he either won't be here or he'll be on duty and ready to leave at a moment's notice, so he's getting his cuddles where he can.

“I'm not gonna take my half day tomorrow,” James says. “There's a couple things Amy and I wanna run by Connor before we go any further, plus it'll be more fun to take half a day on Monday anyway, right? You and I'll finish at five on Friday, and then we can both leave together. Convenient.”

Steve tuts, shakes his head. 

“If I'd known you only wanted me for my taxi services-”

James stretches where he sits. 

“Sure,” he says, “and your cooking skills. I never had a personal chef before.”

“Hmm,” Steve answers, pulling him close to bury his face in James' hair. “I never had a live-in boy before, either, it's exciting.”

James scrunches his face up and turns his head towards Steve, there's point pretending he's not delighted.

“Is there anything you need me to bring on Friday?” he says.

“Toothbrush,” Steve answers, as though he's thinking very hard about it. “Clothes? Can't think you'd need those...”

“Anything specific?” James says, and Steve smiles against his temple, James can feel it.

“Just you,” he says. “Anything else is secondary. And I'll be bringing all the fun stuff anyway.”

James' blood warms a little at that tone – he knows exactly what Steve means.

“I,” James says, and then chickens out. 

Thing is, it's a lot easier to not-say something if you haven't already started.

“Mmm?” Steve asks, and there's a very long silence while James tries to figure out what he's going to say.

“Uh,” he says. “It's a sex...it's another sex thing.”

Steve nods, and waits a little longer, and then James says,

“Uh,” again.

“Aw, you look terrified,” Steve says, smiling a little, reaching out to touch the underside of James' jaw. “What's the matter? It's only me.” 

James chews his bottom lip for a minute and tries to think about his phrasing, and Steve waits patiently for him to come up with a way to articulate himself like an actual human.

“I mean,” James says, and Steve cocks his head. “I have a...There's...I mean, I like some of the...you know the...you're-in-charge stuff?” 

He doesn't sound certain, not even to his own ears, but Steve doesn't seem to mind about that. Above all else, Steve is excellent at figuring out what James means before James knows how to say so.

“Sweetheart,” he says softly. “Whaddya think I'm'onna do, string you up?”

James looks down at his hands where he's now clasped them in his lap. The Brooklyn's nice, it really is, and Steve usually turns it on for him in specific situations, but Steve leans in and smiles against his ear, chuckles softly before he draws back to kiss James full on the mouth, and it's brief and gentle but James appreciates it anyway.

“Honey, I'm not gonna beat you or whip you or chain you to a damn ceilin' or somethin' 'less you specifically ask me for it and clarify repeatedly. What's got you all twisted up, huh?”

He pulls James towards him, wraps his arm around James' shoulders to pull him closer.

“You know, I was thinking about getting a collar,” James says, as casually as possible, and Steve looks at him.

~

Steve thinks about this. 

“I mean, sure, if a collar would do it for you. I didn't think you wanted that kind of thing though.”

James tilts his head from side to side, winces a little.

“I don't?” he says. “A-At least I'm not trying to...Like I don't...”

“You don't want to kneel on the floor and call me Daddy,” Steve says. “I got it. So what is it, a leather thing?”

James looks like Steve's on the right track but not quite correct.

“Kind of?” he hedges. “You know that really really soft buttery stuff, that feels like...I saw somebody call it 'supple' once, and that sounded right. You know? Not the stiff and creaky kind but the nice soft stuff? That I could get behind as like a leather thing.”

Steve scrapes his teeth over his lower lip for a moment or two, thinking.

“But you don't want the whole submission thing?”

James nods.

“I know,” he says, and Steve stifles a smile at the frustrated tone. “I know, it's just...Like, I bought a dog collar once.”

Steve's eyebrows go up, because that's a little more interesting than just thinking about getting one.

“You bought a dog collar?”

“A nice one,” James clarifies, oddly defensive, as though he's expecting to be told off, “really big, like for an Alsatian or something – black and covered in rhinestones and it had this neat little silver ring on the front of it but it...it closed with a buckle. I have this fantasy...and sometimes, when I had time to myself, I used to...”

James looks like he's only just now realized where this story is going, and Steve is half expecting an elaborate self-bondage routine involving the collar, when James seems to clam up completely.

“It's okay,” Steve says, because there's no way it can be bad enough to justify his expression, “you can tell me. You can tell me anything, kiddo, come on.”

James swallows hard, his cheeks turn pink.

“I used to put it on and just...wear it,” he mumbles, looking as though he thinks this is the stupidest thing he's ever said. “Sometimes I'd take off my shirt or sometimes I'd jerk off or sometimes I'd just wear it for a little while. It made me feel se- uh-”

“It made you feel sexy,” Steve finishes for him, smiling. “So you like wearing a collar, because it feels good and makes you feel good, but you don't want the sexually possessive/submissive aspect.”

“Right,” James says on a rush of breath, gaze finding Steve's immediately as he sits up, sits back and nods. “Yeah, exactly.”

Steve nods.

“Nothing wrong with feeling sexy,” Steve tells him. “You think I wear so many lycra blend shirts for the good of my health?”

James laughs, but he rubs the back of his neck and nods.

“Right,” he says.

There's a couple of seconds of silence while James clasps and unclasps his hands, twists his fingers. Steve puts one warm, hopefully comforting hand on James' knee.

“So do you have one in mind, or do you want to pick one out together?” James looks at him, mouth open. “Or do you still have your dog collar?”

“Uh,” James says. “I mean, it's somewhere but I-I mean, we could- No, I-” James sighs, blows out a steady breath through pursed lips, and tries again. “I saw one I liked that was kinda cheap and really pretty. I already ordered it.”

Steve nods slowly.

“Okay,” he says. “Do you want to wear it around me, or is it a private thing?” 

“I,” James says, but then he pulls his new phone to pull up the website. “Look!” 

Steve leans into him, tucks James up against his side and looks.

James has found something that is, admittedly, pretty, and it doesn't really surprise Steve considering James' penchant for things like nail polish and eyeliner and other things in that vein – yes, he's noticed.

This thing is a standard piece of (probably faux) leather, wider than Steve was expecting, with a second, thinner piece on top of it. The back buckles, and the front is embellished with a heart-shaped silver ring.

“It's,” Steve says, and he considers saying 'three dollars?' incredulously.

“You don't like it,” James says, and he sounds so dejected that Steve looks at him.

“James,” he says, “sweetheart, you gotta gimme a second before you jump into that worst case scenario, okay?”

James looks halfway between wary and admonished, but he nods.

“Okay,” he says, and Steve kisses his temple briefly. 

“I think it's real pretty, I'm just surprised it cost you three dollars.”

“It's shipping from China,” James tells him. “I bought the blue one because...”

Steve is expecting something like 'it matches my eyes' but, when James takes a few seconds too long, Steve looks down at him.

“Because blue is my color,” he says, figuring it out, and James nods.

“Yeah, I,” he says.

Steve reaches across himself to tuck his fingers under James' chin tipping his head up so he can look him in the eye.

“I can't wait,” Steve says, and kisses him softly.

James' smile is slow when they part, but he looks relieved.

“There,” Steve says. “That was relatively painless, wasn't it?” 

James looks down, glances up at Steve through his lashes.

“Relatively,” he says.

Steve waits for him to put his phone down before he strikes, tackling James sideways onto the couch.

“I'll give you 'relatively,' kid,” he says, but he starts to chuckle halfway through, and James was already laughing anyway.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Spoiler alert:** If you'd like to know the dates in this series, here's [a link to a timeline](https://66.media.tumblr.com/aac4be76b217f7b6ea54592e0a76d168/tumblr_inline_pg5mcewTA21rckout_500.png) of the first ten parts, with a short summary of each part. **Spoilers for parts 1-10, though.**


End file.
